The Fading Purple
by jambled
Summary: What if Kirsten was sure Sandy had slept with Rebecca, and she tried to even the score? Finit.
1. The Emptiness

_This story takes place after Carter's departure and before Kirsten's rehab. So you can get the mood; I wrote a lot of this while listening to Fix You by Coldplay and Angry Angel by Imogen Heap and Like Pain by The Grates. Great songs by fantastic musicians._

_There will be some raw imagery later in this fic, but for now, it's rated general. As always, please review. Thanks, & enjoy._

She looked over the ocean, towards the orange sky. A passing jet blazed a trail of fire from the dying sun. The swimming pool looked heated, warm in the half light. Reflection of the sky concealing the coldness in the depths below. Kirsten shivered and crossed her arms. She hated this time of day, the way darkness took over, twilight bled black into the sky like a spreading tumour. The air chilled, the grass grew cold and crisp and, sometimes, husbands didn't come home as they usually did. She'd talked to him last night, briefly, as he told her he would be sleeping in the guest room again. It was like a nightmare, Sandy being so distant from her. He still looked exactly the same, still acted mostly the same when they were around the boys although there were no public displays of affection like there used to be, but everything had changed. She knew he was only still here because of Ryan and Seth, would rather be in a hotel somewhere, or sleeping in his office. As far as she could tell, the boys didn't suspect anything. Sandy had been coming home later and later, if at all, but that could be explained away by saying he was covering a tough case. Kirsten had been coming home earlier, bringing work from the office, hoping he would be there. She liked being home when the boys got there, talking about their day while keeping an eye on the door in case Sandy walked through and she had the chance to tell him, as she'd repeated to him like a mantra, that she was sorry. Sorry she hadn't believed him about Rebecca. Sorry it had gone so far with Carter. Sorry she'd taken it further in a business trip to New York. Sorry she'd ripped his heart out and handed it to him on a bloody plate.

Kirsten shivered again, wrapped her arms tighter around herself, decided to go inside. Ryan had volunteered to cook something, and Seth had decided to hang around the kitchen and offer suggestions that, while amusing, were not helpful.

"Have you got the windows shut in the poolhouse, Ryan? It feels cold out there; might be the cold snap they were talking about."

"And you believe the weatherman? Mom, seriously, anyone who thinks tweed and weather maps go together should not be trusted." Seth looked at her from his perch on the counter. Ryan was chopping something that looked vegetable-like, and he nodded. The phone rang, and Seth reached for it.

"Oh, hi Dad…. Okay… Well, Ryan's actually cooking, so you're missing out on something that we didn't use the phone to get… I'll tell Mom. 'Bye." Seth hung up, turned to Kirsten. She could already guess what it was; Sandy couldn't face her, had invented some kind of work to extricate himself from it.

"Dad's got some work thing, can't make it home." Kirsten nodded silently, moved from the room as she felt tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to clue the boys into the charade she and Sandy had so far been managing to pull off.

"Dude, did you see that?" Seth asked, after Kirsten was a safe distance down the hall. Ryan shook his head.

"I told Mom Dad wouldn't be home for dinner, and I swear she started to cry. I saw tears there, and it takes a lot to make the Kirsten cry. I might just…" Seth jumped off the counter and started after Kirsten, but Ryan stopped him with a shake of the head.

"Let her go."

"But… I wonder what's going on…" Seth slowly resettled himself back on the counter as he thought.

"Haven't you noticed?" Ryan asked, tipping everything he'd been chopping into a saucepan.

"Well, the parents have been a little quiet for a while, but I haven't seen any fights… There's been no veiled dinner table comments… There hasn't been anything, really…" Seth let his thoughts trail off as his mind caught up to his mouth.

"It's been at least a few months, but in the last two weeks it's gotten worse. Since your Mom was away on that business trip. They haven't really been talking. They're not the same as they were." Ryan stirred the vegetables in the saucepan, replaced the lid and turned to the steaks he was marinating.

"You know what this means, Ryan?" Ryan was already grimacing, as he turned to face a triumphant Seth.

"Operation Parent!" Ryan silently shook his head, turned back to the steaks.

"Who do you want, Mom or Dad? I've always thought you and Mom are more similar, so maybe you should have her… We all know Dad tells me anything if I look at him just like so…" Ryan looked over to see Seth attempting to look trustworthy.

"I don't think it's a good idea…"

"Do you want us to end up like Summer or Marissa, unloved children of divorce? Time shared holidays and alternate weekends. The double present thing would be a bonus but…" Seth mulled over his latest thought as Ryan put the steaks under the grill.

"Dude, the Sandy and the Kirsten belong together. Everyone knows that. They're too sickening not to." Ryan shook his head again as he handed Seth placemats to set the table with.

"Maybe we should just let them sort it out. We don't even know what's happened, if anything."

"Always trying to be the voice of reason, Ryan. Well, as refreshing as that sometimes is, I think this kind of situation calls for action. No way am I letting my parents go the way of the Coopers. Next thing we know, Mom will be finding someone richer and older than Grandpa to hook up with. And that would just be disturbing." Seth made a disgusted face as he lined up the cutlery on the table.

"I just don't think we can help." Ryan said. Seth put salt and pepper on the table then stood back to admire his handiwork in table setting.

"Ryan, as you are now a Cohen, it's probably time for you to realise that even if we can't help, we're going to try anyway. I mean, how did you come to live here? Did you ask for help? No, you were forced into this family through the utterly unavoidable assistance given to you by a Cohen. It's just the way we are." Seth poured water into three glasses and sat them around the table.

"This is done, if you want to call Kirsten." Ryan put the steaks on a plate in the middle of the table and drained the vegetables. Seth walked to the doorway of the kitchen.

"Mom." He yelled through the house, waiting a moment to see if there was a reply. He walked through to his parent's bedroom, pausing at the door, which was ajar, a slice of light from the hallway sneaking through into the darkened room.

"Mom," Seth said more quietly, gently knocking. From the moonlight that had just started filtering through the French doors, he could see his mother's outline on the bed, her back to the doorway, her legs curled up to her stomach.

Kirsten had heard Seth in the doorway, was trying to compose herself as he came in. She used the kneaded tissue in her hands to wipe her eyes a final time before sitting it on the bedside table and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

"Coming, Seth." Kirsten said. She took a deep breath, got up, walked to Seth at the door, wondering how bad her eyes looked, how much her mascara may have run, how much she wished Sandy would be at the dinner table when she got out there.

She walked out to Ryan, sitting at the table alone. Seth had followed her out, chattering about something she wanted to listen to, but couldn't focus on. If Ryan noticed that she'd been crying, he didn't mention anything, but Kirsten noticed him avert his eyes, studiously engage in serving dinner. She loved that he'd gone to the trouble of cooking, but didn't feel that her stomach would accept any food.

"Ryan, this looks great." Kirsten accepted her plate from him, full of food. She noticed him looking at the fading bruises on her wrists and pulled her sleeves down so they were covered. She listened as the boys talked about school, spent what energy she had cutting her food into increasingly smaller portions. When Seth and Ryan had finished, Kirsten started clearing the plates.

"You guys probably have homework, right?" Seth rolled his eyes as he followed her to the sink with the glasses.

"Actually, it's already been done. Is it okay if Summer and Marissa come over later?" Kirsten, sighed, shrugged, nodded at Seth. He and Ryan exited, heading for the lounge room, and she started rinsing plates to put in the dishwasher. The kitchen felt lonely. Usually, if she and Sandy were cleaning up, she'd be rinsing plates and passing them to him to put in the dishwasher. He'd be telling her about his day, laughing, almost dropping plates. They'd finish clearing, drink tea standing at the counter, hold hands, watch lightning over the ocean. She missed him. As if on cue, the phone rang. Kirsten walked around the counter to reach for it, answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"It's me." Sandy's voice made her lean against the counter, gathering strength for what would either be another fight, or a conversation so distant it may as well be conveyed in Morse code.

"Sandy." She couldn't help saying his name, used it more to fill space than anything else. Where there would be easy conversation, there were now uncomfortable silences that needed to be filled.

"I won't be home tonight." He didn't offer an explanation, his sentence biting into Kirsten, scratching the surface to release the guilt beneath.

"Where are you staying?" She asked, knowing he'd think she was prying, think she was trying to check up on him even though she knew she had lost her rights to that since…

"In a motel. Alone." His voice was cold, arctic ice chilling her through the phone line.

"I didn't mean it like that… I miss you." Kirsten slid down to the floor, wondering if this time, unlike the hundreds of times before it since she'd told him about New York, it might have an impact.

"I'll be over tomorrow morning to get some things. The boys will be at school?" Kirsten leant her head back against the counter, shut her eyes.

"Is this it? Is that all there's going to be? What are we going to tell the boys?" She felt her words catching in her throat as tears clouded her eyes. Even when she told Sandy, she never thought it would come to this.

"I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk about it then." She felt him slipping further away from her, felt him withdrawing into a place where she couldn't hurt him anymore.

"Sandy…" She waited, listening to him breathing.

"I'm sorry." Kirsten said, wanting to take back what she'd done, the reasoning behind it something she couldn't make Sandy comprehend. Wanting to undo the last two months to Before Carter. Even undoing the last year so that memories of the hurt she'd felt because of Rebecca had never been inflicted. Then there would be no Carter, no guilt dragging her down… No empty bed to crawl into alone every night. Kirsten rubbed her forehead, pushed her hair back. She pulled herself up from the floor and hung up the phone. There were still dishes in the sink to be washed, but she couldn't face doing it alone, thinking about what Sandy might want to say tomorrow, about his closet slowly emptying out. She turned and started walking towards their bedroom… Her bedroom.

Seth's eyes were wide as he turned to Ryan from his perch near the kitchen doorway. "Did you hear that?" He said. Ryan nodded, feeling that sinking feeling in his stomach when things have gone all wrong. He didn't want Sandy and Kirsten to separate, didn't want the life he'd been living in the past few years to end. He didn't know if he could be taken away if Kirsten and Sandy split up. He didn't know if either of them would still want him if they weren't together.

"I heard. It mightn't mean anything, though, Seth. He might just have to stay to work on something."

"Yeah, but what is Mom sorry about? And why did she sound like she was about to cry? What are they going to tell us?" Seth moved back over to Ryan, his eyes reflecting fear.

"Ryan, tell me they aren't getting a divorce. Tell me I haven't been so self absorbed that I never noticed it getting so bad that they've come to this." He shook his head woodenly, looked at the floor. Kirsten appeared in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a black jacket.

"I'm going out. Are you guys okay here?" She asked. Seth looked up at her for a moment before standing up to face her.

"Are you going to tell us what's going on? Why Dad isn't home, hasn't been home at the usual time in the past few weeks. Why it's been weird between you two for a while. Mom, what's happening?" Seth looked into her mother's eyes as she struggled to find the words she needed. She looked past him to Ryan, noticed the haunted look in his eyes, realised the extent of what her selfish actions had led to. Not only had it led to the break up of her own family, she was going to rip the only safe life Ryan had known away from him.

_To Be Continued…_

_And now for a shameless plug- if you liked this, please check out my other fics. Thanks._


	2. The Missing

"I…" Kirsten faltered on the first word, knowing if she told them what she'd done to Sandy, they'd never feel the same way about her. She thought back to how she'd told Sandy.

They'd been in the bedroom. He was lying in bed, reading a golfing magazine while she took off her jewellery. She'd just got back from New York that day, from a conference about the new zoning laws to be implemented within the month. Carter had called it fate when they'd both been in her hotel bar for a drink. He was chasing a story, she was trying not to let images of Sandy and Rebecca consume her, as they had done most nights. They'd ended up back in her room, both too inebriated to bother with the awkwardness either should be feeling about this chance meeting. They'd undressed each other, and with spinning heads from too much alcohol, had slept together. Afterwards, Kirsten had considered how good it had felt to hurt Sandy as much as he'd hurt her. How much she had enjoyed sleeping with another man. What kind of person that made her. Carter had given her a lingering goodbye kiss, that was somehow filled with less meaning than the last goodbye they'd shared. She'd curled up on the expensive sheets, thought of Sandy and cried. Later that day, in time for the conference lunch, Kirsten had made her way out of bed into a scalding shower, and washed the feeling of Carter off her. The marks on her wrists, she couldn't hide. She knew they would bruise, knew she'd have to keep it from Sandy with long sleeves and excuses. Knew every time she saw them she'd think of Carter pinning her hands over her head while she arched her back to get him closer to her. The bruises on her hips, too, would need to be explained or hidden, as would the faint handprint bruises on her back. Kirsten had considered the materializing smudges on her body in the full length mirror the hotel provided. She felt sickened by the curious sense of pride she felt in these discolorations, inflicted on her by another man, in places only a husband should be permitted to leave his mark. She'd styled her hair, dressed carefully, packed her bags ready for the flight home. The lunch was hellish, other real estate agents milling around the food while Kirsten frequented the bar, hoping to see Carter again, hoping not to. She'd driven herself home from the airport, had walked through the door to see Sandy and Ryan in the kitchen, drinking coffee. As tenuous as her relationship had been with Sandy then, he'd greeted her as if she'd been away for weeks, offering her coffee, bagels, a neck massage. And now, here they were, her sense of guilt growing inside her like a spreading sickness, Sandy seemingly unconcerned with the guilt she thought he would be feeling over Rebecca. She could see him in the mirror, remembered how he'd reacted after finding out Jimmy had kissed her. Remembered he was angrier about her not telling him than about the kiss. Remembered, too, that he'd been tight lipped about Rebecca, about the rainy night when he'd caught a bus home to her. She started feeling sicker, started realising she might have convinced herself of something Sandy might not have done just so she could sleep with Carter without feeling the hideous guilt that was just beginning to creep into her subconscious. She undressed quietly, noticing Sandy looking up at her, looking at the bruises on her hips, her back, encircling her wrists.

"Honey, what happened?" When she looked at him, she knew he knew something had happened. He'd put his magazine down and slowly pulled the covers back so he could swing his legs out. Kirsten came to sit beside him, bringing his own nightmare closer, wearing only underwear so he could see the full extent of the purpling bruises.

"I'm so sorry." She'd knelt in front of him, the only voice she could find a whisper.

"Who did this?" His voice was controlled, but only barely. She could feel the bitter fury underneath, threatening to spill over, consume and break apart whatever relationship they'd been salvaging up til now.

"When I was in New York, I ran into Carter. I was still so angry about you and Rebecca, what I thought you'd done to me… we slept together." Kirsten looked at the floor, feeling him turning to stone in front of her, feeling him slipping further from her, from the unbreakable couple they had used to be.

"I love you Sandy, so much. I just wanted… I don't know." Kirsten sighed, dared to look up at him. His eyes were closed, and she saw a tear slip down his cheek, silently dealing her a blow bigger than anything he could have expressed through words. She reached up to wipe it away, but as her fingertips touched his cheek, he finally spoke, his voice flinty granite, breaking the silence.

"Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me." His eyes opened to look at her as she withdrew her hand, and she was suddenly more scared than sick as she saw the usual love in his eyes replaced with anger, hatred, the glistening look of the betrayed.

"Sandy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you." She tried to used words to fix it, knew they were as useless as a bandaid over a bullet wound. Knew actions spoke louder than words, and she'd screamed at him with what she'd done.

"I've got to get out of here." Sandy had gone to the closet to get dressed, reappeared in jeans and a shirt, a suit in his hand, a small overnight bag under his arm. He'd left, hadn't returned home that night. He'd put in a brief appearance before Kirsten was up, had seen the boys and collected his surfboard. He'd been either sleeping in the guest room, or had been sleeping away since then. Kirsten couldn't stand the thought of the boys looking at her in the same way, but knew it was inevitable. The look of hurt, the look of betrayal.

"I have to go find your father. I'll be home later. Everything's… It's going to be…" She couldn't bring herself to alleviate their fears by lying to them about how everything would turn out to be fine.

"I have to go." She turned before either of them could try to talk to her again, ask questions she didn't have the right answers for. She picked up her handbag as she passed the hall table, grabbed her keys and was out the door into the night. She revved the car, enjoying the thrum of power, the feeling that there was something she could control. At the driveway entrance, she passed Marissa and Summer driving in. Ignoring their surprised looks at her speed, Kirsten pointed her car down the hill and floored it.

"Hey." Seth said as he opened the door. Summer reached her face up to kiss him while Marissa nodded and walked through to the lounge room. The weather channel was muted, the playstation turned off.

"Hey." She said to Ryan, as he moved to the side of the couch so everyone could fit.

"So, we passed Kirsten on our way in. Is she in a hurry somewhere?" Summer sank onto the couch and leaned into Seth, who was sharing a look with Ryan.

"What's going on?" She asked, sitting back up. Ryan sighed, shrugged, motioned towards Seth.

"We think they're getting a divorce. Or just separating." Seth shrugged helplessly. There was shocked silence after this, while Marissa and Summer absorbed his statement.

"No way, not your parents, Cohen. They're, like, soul mates or something. No way would they break up." Summer tried to reassure him, saw she was falling short.

"They're probably just in a rut. I mean, they've been together forever. There's got to be rough patches, right?" Seth shook his head.

"This is different. This isn't just a rough patch. Dad hasn't been coming home when he usually does. He's never around for dinner anymore, and when he is, the parents just sit and eat. They don't talk. They don't even look at each other. Mom looks like she's going to cry all the time... God, we're just not that family. My parents are the rock. They've always been Sandy and Kirsten." Seth leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Summer let her arm rest on his back.

"I can't believe it." Marissa finally said. There was more silence as they all thought about the destruction of the Cohen family as they knew it.

_Thanks so much for all the reviews so far- it's been lovely getting feed back on what is essentially a labour of love. Hear that, Schwartz- no money is being made here! No infringement intended. _


	3. The Silent Fight

The first three hotels Kirsten tried didn't have a booking in Sandy's name. She didn't think he'd use an alias, didn't think he'd believe she'd try and find him. At the fourth hotel, they said they had a listing for him, but that he'd asked not to be disturbed. After a heavy tip, she found out his room number from the reluctant clerk. She stood in front of his door for at least five minutes, trying to think of something she could say that she hadn't already said. Something that might penetrate the cone of silence Sandy had erected around himself to keep her out. She knocked softly, wondering if he'd be there, wondering if he'd open the door if he knew she was standing outside. A few moments, then he opened the door. He was still in his suit, but with the jacket off and his tie loosened and askew. He had a five o'clock shadow and bags under his eyes. She knew she was the reason for his discomfort.

They regarded each other, both wary, both with open wounds that the other had inflicted.

Sandy looked at her, marvelling at how she looked the same as the woman he had married, how she could be so different. Her blue eyes were searching his, looking for a salvation he didn't feel he could give her. She looked like she'd lost weight in the last two weeks. Jeans which used to fit her snugly now hung almost loose. Her hair was out, slightly curled. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

"I'm-." He held up a hand before she could say what she'd been saying since she told him. He was sick of hearing it, sick of being reminded what she was sorry about, sick of being tortured with images of his wife and that man every time he closed his eyes.

"Sandy, I love you. I love you so much, and I miss you…" She trailed off, and he saw tears pooling in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. She reached a hand up to wipe them away, and Sandy saw the fading bracelet of yellow on her wrist. He looked back into her eyes, seeing a guilt she could not assuage, a hope he could dash or raise. Sandy rubbed his eyes with weary hands, thought about their wedding day, how amazed he'd been that she was actually marrying him, a poor lawyer from the Bronx. His friends, before they'd met her, had told him she was going to be high maintenance, that she was a spoilt trust fund kid. His mother had told him he was making the biggest mistake of his life, they wouldn't last a year, he'd come back to New York with a broken heart. Her father had told him he wasn't good enough for Kirsten, that he should just go back to where he came from and find himself someone more like himself. But Kirsten had told him she loved him, and that was all that mattered. She'd looked him in the eyes on his wedding day, the same eyes that were now pooling with unspilled tears, and told him he was The One. And now, she'd told him there was someone else. He wanted his wife back, but he didn't want to live with the fear that he could never trust her again. He knew, too, that she was his one and only, and that was the only reason he motioned her into his room. She sniffed as she walked past him, tried to wipe her eyes but he stilled her hand.

"Why, Kirsten…?" His voice faltered on her name. Kirsten sniffed again, looked up at him. Unpooled tears threatened to arc their way down her cheeks, and her hair was bunched at the back of her jacket as if she'd dressed in a hurry.

"I wanted… I needed you to hurt as much as I did. To know how it felt to be left for someone else." Sandy looked at her, trying to compute the words, what exactly she meant.

"But… What?" He asked after a pause.

"Rebecca." Kirsten's voice was steadying, hardening as she spoke the name of the person who, in her opinion, had been the main contributing factor to her and Sandy's disintegration. Sandy looked confused, motioned Kirsten towards the bed. They sat, far enough apart to not be touching.

"What does Rebecca have to do with this?" He asked, still unable to grasp the logic in Kirsten's admittance. He knew she didn't like the idea of having Rebecca around, knew that he should have given the case to another lawyer but knew, too, that the distance between them had already started growing, that Rebecca had proved a worthy distraction from what he knew he should have been fixing at home.

"You left me for her. It was Valentine's day, Sandy. You know how much that means to me, how much I wanted you to be there, but you ditched me for her." Kirsten looked at him as tears streamed down her face. She didn't bother to wipe them away. Sandy reached the pad of a thumb out, grazed her cheek with it.

"Nothing happened between us. I told her there was only you, that you were the one I loved. She understood that, respected it." Kirsten moved her face away from Sandy's hand.

"Oh, God," she said, before sprinting for the bathroom. Sandy heard the unmistakeable sounds of vomiting as he sat on the bed. He had known Kirsten had thought something had happened between him and Rebecca, but he hadn't known the thought had run so deep to make her do something so extreme in retaliation. He didn't condone what she had done, could still not shut his eyes without thinking of her wrapped around Carter, but he had some solid ground from which he could begin to understand.

Sandy walked to the doorway of the bathroom when he heard the toilet flush. His wife was crumpled in the corner, one hand carelessly holding her hair back. She looked up at him, fresh guilt apparent in her eyes.

"God, Sandy, what have I done." She turned her face away from him, scrunched her hair in her hands as if to wring a solution from it. Sandy hesitantly entered the bathroom, sat cross legged across from her, leaning his back against the bath tub.

"I'm so sorry. Sandy…" She trailed off, as if realising how futile her words were becoming. Sandy sighed, rubbed his face with weary hands. He truly believed she was sorry, believed she had meant this only to hurt him as she felt he'd hurt her, and it had cut him deeper than anything else she had ever done. It was as if she was a stranger to him, a woman who was just now showing her true colours.

"Kirsten, I can't be with you right now. I have to think about this. I just…" Kirsten looked over to him, blue eyes peeking through blonde hair. She began pulling herself up, standing on shaky legs.

"The boys think there's something going on. Even Seth noticed how much you've been away lately, how different things have been between us."

"Did you tell them anything?" Sandy asked dully, wondering how his wife could have told Seth and Ryan about her fall from grace. He thought about Ryan, the way he had always held Kirsten on a pedestal, even though she hadn't noticed.

"No, I told them… I told them I was coming to find you. That's all. If it comes to… If we need to tell them anything, I think you should be there too." Kirsten stood, as if uncertain of her next action. Sandy motioned to the door, wanting her to leave. He felt that if he looked at her any longer, he'd feel heightening disgust. She had always been the only one for him. What he had felt for Rebecca was an emotion long cooled, and didn't come close to what he felt for Kirsten, even when he and Rebecca were together. He had known he felt something for Kirsten as soon as he met her but had never thought he had a chance with her. As he saw it, a mini miracle had taken place when she agreed to a date with him, and when she took his engagement ring and told him she was so in love with him it hurt, he'd considered that a bigger miracle. And now, because she loved him so much, he was the one hurting.

"If I could take it back, I would." Kirsten was still in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him, poised to walk out. Sandy looked up, saw the raw honesty in her eyes, the nakedness of a truth she wished would emerge into reality. He wasn't the only one hurting. He could imagine the images that had taunted Kirsten, of Rebecca and him in the cheap motel they had to book into because of the rain. He knew, though, that these images were from Kirsten's imagination only, whereas the images that taunted him were based in fact. She hadn't trusted him when he'd told her nothing had happened, and because of that, he didn't know whether he could ever trust her again.

"Just… Please, go." Sandy hung his head down, trying to find some relief in the sterility of the tile floor, trying to use the blinding whiteness to erase the blackness of the imagery he couldn't escape.

He heard her leave, quiet footsteps, the click of the door as she shut it behind her. Usually, their fights, rare as they might occur, were punctuated by slamming doors, loud voices, both wanting the other to hear their side of the story. Afterwards, they would make up, both apologising, both still thinking they were right but willing to compromise because that's what people who love each other do. The lack of passion in their fight reminded Sandy of how different this fight was, how much he was willing to compromise, and whether he really still loved her.

_Again, thanks for the feedback. It truly means a lot. So… beachtree, I love kandy 18, capt oats, Sharkie2008, misssIda, Ansy Pansy aka Panz, OClover1, princesssparkle88, nat luvs kandy, bluetoffee, kirsan, Vanessa, ally, sexyEm aka Kirstenrulez, kandy fan and slinn01… you guys are freakin' awesome!_


	4. The Carjacking

Outside Sandy's room, Kirsten leaned against the wall beside the door. She had really fucked up. Figuratively, literally… She had been so convinced something had happened with Sandy and Rebecca that she'd made such a profound error in judgement, not helped along by the overabundance of alcohol she'd plied herself with even before meeting up with Carter. She'd found herself drinking more since he'd left, wanting the earth to feel slightly tilted, wanting to escape a reality that was becoming too harsh. Sandy and Rebecca. Thoughts of their tryst taunting her for weeks, forcing her to make a choice that she wished she could take back. Thoughts that had been only that. A wife who doesn't trust her husband cheats on him, hoping to… what? Kirsten didn't know what she had wanted. Knew she had wanted to hurt Sandy, but now didn't understand why. Had she wanted to even the score, before finding out hers was the only mark on the scoreboard? Had she wanted to do something different, taste forbidden fruit, do something to shake up a marriage that was so obviously in a rut. She knew even before Rebecca that they'd stopped communicating, ceased being able to convey messages with looks or touches, the way they once could. Stopped wanting each other as much as they used to; knowing it was not only work commitments that had stopped them making love most days.

Kirsten sighed and pushed herself out from the wall. She felt trapped by circumstances she alone had invented. Carter had been history, had been something they would have gotten around eventually. Now he was permanently black marked beside her name, stored in bruised colours on her skin. And while that will fade, she knew the hurt inflicted on Sandy won't.

Kirsten shut the door on the car and leaned her head against the steering wheel. She couldn't stand to go back home, find her boys along with Summer and Marissa in the lounge room to greet her with questioning looks and accusing glares. She had no doubt the boys would figure out she had done something to Sandy, she was the one who had pushed her fingernails into the fabric of their family and started the tear that would touch them all. She had no doubts that Sandy was the favourite in terms of parenting. She had nearly always taken a backseat to him in raising Seth and, since Ryan, had usually deferred any decision about either of them to him. Ryan knew him better. Seth probably did, too. Since Seth hit puberty, Kirsten had been less entangled with his life. Sometimes she regretted her decision to take a step back but when she'd made that decision she'd known she was an extension of Sandy. Now, she wasn't so sure what she was. Or what her and Sandy were. She couldn't call them together anymore, but they weren't yet apart.

Kirsten pulled out of the lot and headed to a cheap bar she'd passed on her way to the motel. There was no way she'd run into anyone she knew here, and she didn't have to worry about her lack of mascara or unbrushed hair.

"Three vodka shots and a house chardonnay." Kirsten flipped some money onto the scarred bar top and waited while her shots were lined up in front of her. She downed them while the bartender poured her wine.

"More," the thickly outlined grey eyes of the bartender met hers. Kirsten nodded, started to pull out more money, but the woman stopped her.

"Enough to cover this last time," she muttered, smoker's rasp barely audible over the bad jukebox music. Her hands shook as she poured the last drink, and her skin colour was pale enough to be emaciated, just yellow enough to be jaundiced.

"Thanks," Kirsten said. She was one of only a handful of people at the bar. Two men hunched over their drinks at the bend, and a thirty-something executive-type stared morosely at the half-empty glass in front of him.

"Haven't seen you here before," the bartender lit a cigarette, offered one to Kirsten. She was about to decline, but wondered if it would make her feel worse. She wanted to drag herself down to the depth of Sandy's pain, wanted to know what he was going through. She only had external influences to do it, not a cheating wife, so she needed any help she could get.

"Thanks," Kirsten leant over so the woman could light it, and inhaled without pleasure. She'd tried smoking, mostly through tenth grade, to get to her father. Her dislike of it had outweighed her dislike of him, and she'd quit. She'd smoked pot some through college, had never really liked dulling her senses that much, and had quit that too.

"I'm not a usual bar frequenter." Kirsten shrugged, consumed the new vodkas and declined more with a movement of her hand.

"Well, you sure drink like you are." The bartender cleaned away the shot glasses, moved down to the end of the bar to refill on of the hunched men's glasses. Kirsten looked into her wine, wondering how it had come to this. Sandy, in a motel somewhere. The boys at home, probably talking about their suspicions relating to their parent's relationship to their girlfriends. And her, sitting alone in a seedy bar, drinking like a seasoned regular, smoking a menthol. Kirsten tapped ash into the ashtray, inhaled at length. At this point, she hated herself. At this point, she knew she'd convinced herself to believe something to justify something else that was so wrong. At this point she knew that if Sandy wanted to end the relationship, which he inevitably would, she would have to tell the boys of what she'd done and relinquish them to him. She knew there was no way they'd want to be with her after what she'd done to their favourite, to Sandy.

Before she knew it, tears began to fall into her wine. A cheap serviette was pushed into her palm, and Kirsten smiled through her tears at the bartender.

"Sorry," she started to say, but the woman waved her explanation away. Kirsten was glad, didn't know what she would have followed with. She was sorry she was upset that she'd cheated on her husband, or she was sorry she'd diluted wine that tasted like vinegar anyway.

"Hell, hon, you didn't look like you were going to hold it together that long." Kirsten drained her wine, almost winced at the aftertaste sourness, and dropped another twenty on the bar.

"Thank you," she said to the surprised bartender. In the higher end of Newport, twenty bucks would be looked down on. Here, it was a fair sum.

"Hey, you're not driving yourself are you?" Kirsten stopped rustling through her bag for her keys and looked up.

"Of course not, I'm getting a lift." The bartender believed her, nodded and turned away. Kirsten found her keys and snagged them on her walk across the parking lot. She beeped the car open, and was surprised when a hand grabbed her throat.

"Hand me the keys," a whisper at her ear sent chills down her spine. A carjacking. She didn't think things could get worse, and now she was about to be the victim of a carjacking.

Kirsten handed the keys back, felt the man's hand linger over her rings.

"Give me your jewellery."

"What, no-." Kirsten could only think of Sandy's face if he found her without her wedding rings. He'd think she took them off on purpose, like she had when she'd assumed he was with Rebecca. He'd think she was signalling to him that it was the end, when that wasn't what she wanted at all.

"Fucking bitch, give me your goddamn jewellery!" Kirsten was turned around and almost lifted by her throat. She gasped for breath and came eye to eye with her attacker. He was about as tall as Carter, wearing a ski mask. Perilous green eyes shone through the mask eye holes. Kirsten felt his thumb dig into her neck, cut off the blood supply to her brain. She felt dizzy, and redness encroached on her vision, prickling at the edges the way darkness takes over the day. Right before Kirsten thought she would pass out, she dimly heard the bar door open and close. A shouted, "Hey," had her attacker dropping her and running towards her car. Kirsten didn't have the strength to break her fall, instead felt her head hit asphalt hard enough to make her cry out.

"Hey, you okay?" Kirsten dragged her head up to see her car driven away. But she still had her wedding rings. And her handbag, with her phone.

"I think so…" Kirsten rolled over on her side to see the executive-type leaning over her. His moroseness was overtaken by concern, and he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to press against her cheekbone. Kirsten reached up, felt blood bubbling out of the scrape on her cheek from the fall. She weakly sat up, looked at the blood on her fingers.

"Can I take you somewhere? To the hospital? The police station?" He'd relinquished his handkerchief, but he was still kneeling near her.

"Um, I just need to call someone." Kirsten reached into her bag with her free hand, rattled around until she found her phone. It wasn't until she'd flipped it open that she realised she didn't have anyone she could call. She knew Sandy wouldn't want to hear from her, and she didn't want the boys to see her like this, slightly tipsy in a bar car park.

"Do you know the local taxi number?" Kirsten asked the executive. He reached out and punched it into her phone.

"I can take you home if you like," he said. Kirsten flipped the phone shut, and nodded. He seemed nice. He seemed as if he'd drive her home and not expect anything in return or pull a knife on her. Besides, she didn't feel like waiting around for a taxi. She just wanted to be at home in a hot shower.

"Here," he took her arm, helped her stand. Kirsten hissed as a headache set in. She'd managed to fall on her knees as well, and they were throbbing under her jeans.

"I'm just over here," he guided her to a black Porsche, helped her into the low seat.

"This doesn't seem like the kind of car to fit into a parking lot like this," Kirsten remarked as they left the lot.

"I guess not. I like it there, though. Cheap drinks, cheap jukebox, barely anyone there. Where we headed?" Kirsten told him her street name, leant her forehead against the cool glass as he turned the corner. A classic Stones song came on, and he adjusted the volume.

"You're far from home," he remarked. Kirsten looked over at him.

"I had some business out here. Decided to get a drink before I went home." She watched him, caught a better glimpse under each street light. He was younger than she'd first thought. He had short blonde hair and a goatee. His eyes were heavy lidded, his nose Aryan and his lips were generous.

"A drink?" He said, before turning to her to raise an eyebrow. Kirsten grimaced, looked back out the window. He'd called her on it. Six shots and a wine were not just a drink.

"I think my husband wants a divorce," Kirsten said quietly. She wanted to say the words out loud to someone else, in the hope that, if she made it real, she could also fix it.

"Is he having an affair?" The man asked after a moment's pause. Kirsten gave a short, cynical laugh. She wished he had, so that she wouldn't have to feel so bad.

"No. I did." Kirsten sneaked a glance at him, wanting to gauge his judgement. His face was as expressionless as before. They sat in silence as he handled the long corner up to the gateman.

"How long have you been married?" Kirsten looked back out the window, strained to see if there was any lightning over the ocean. It looked like all darkness out there. No storms tonight.

"Twenty years," Kirsten murmured. The shots were taking their toll. The wine had kicked in. Her headache was getting worse, and her knees ached. She didn't want to have to look in a mirror to see how much blood had run down the side of her face, avoiding the now stained handkerchief.

"I guess you had some kind of reason, if you're this upset about it," the man reasoned, as Kirsten directed him up her drive. He hung, idling in the driveway. She could see Summer's car in front of them. Sandy's car, still at the motel, she presumed. And her car was now MIA.

"My reasoning didn't end up being as factual as I thought." Kirsten took the handkerchief off her face, saw that it was too stained to give back to him. She pressed it back to her face when she felt the blood start flowing again.

"I'm sorry. About the handkerchief. I can post you a new one?" Kirsten asked. He smiled, stayed looking ahead.

"That's okay. It's a small loss for an interesting ride."

"Thank you. Very much. If you hadn't come out then…" Kirsten trailed off. As she was picking her bag up from under her feet, he came around to open her car door.

"Did you need me to help you in?" He asked. Kirsten shook her head.

"That's okay. Just… Thank you." He reached out and gave her free hand a brief clasp before shutting the door after her. Kirsten watched the taillights recede down the drive. They flared briefly at the bottom before he hit the gas. The sound of squealing wheels tore through the night, and Kirsten sighed before turning back to the house. She was hoping she could get in and to her room before anyone came to see her. Quietly opening and shutting the front door, Kirsten tried to walk on her toes to minimise the sound of her heels clacking on the floor. No such luck. At the first footfall, she heard Seth yell out.

"Hey, Mom!" She could almost still make a getaway, but before she could flee the entrance hall, Seth was walking towards her.

"Mom, are you okay? God, what happened?" At Seth's words, everyone else appeared out of the living room. Kirsten shut her eyes, shook her head. This was not part of the get-to-her-room-quickly plan. Marissa and Summer gasped when they saw her. Ryan's eyes got steely, and he turned back to the kitchen to get an ice pack. Ignoring her protests, Seth led her to sit at the breakfast nook in the kitchen. Kirsten caught sight of herself in the reflection in a window. She could understand the girls' reaction. Her throat was turning deep purple from bruising, and her eye was swollen. The blood had, despite the handkerchief, run down to her neck and stained her shirt. The darkness of her jacket hid the blood stain, but she knew it was probably ruined as well. Seth came at her with some kind of wound cleaner on a cotton ball, and the girls gasped again when she moved the handkerchief. Ryan snagged it and threw it in the bin, replacing it in her hand with a gauze pad. Kirsten hissed as Seth applied the alcohol.

"Mom, what happened? Did Dad…?" Seth trailed off. Kirsten opened her eyes to see the naked fear in his. She knew her didn't think his father was capable of this, didn't want to think about what his mother could have done to deserve it. Kirsten shook her head, wincing as it shook up her headache.

"No, of course not. He would never hurt me, Seth." At least not as much as I hurt him, Kirsten thought mentally. The wounds they inflicted on each other were always under the skin.

"Well, where is he?" Seth demanded. "Why isn't he with you? What happened? You said you were going to find Dad, and then you come home bleeding. Did you find him? Is he okay?" Ryan took the sterile alcohol and cotton wool from Seth's hands, noticing the way they shook in fear.

"I saw your father and he was fine. He's working on a big case. He's staying near the office tonight, to save himself the drive. I took him dinner, and then…" Kirsten trailed off. She didn't know how to explain going to a bar without cancelling out the rest of her story. She knew her lies were weak, knew Ryan, at least, was going to see right through them.

"Cohen, we're going to go. Hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Cohen." Summer and Marissa each gave Kirsten's hand a squeeze, and let themselves out quietly. Kirsten knew they could feel that this was something that needed to involve only family.

"And then what? Does Dad know you're hurt? I'm calling him." Seth had the phone in his hand and several numbers in before Kirsten reached out to stop him.

"Don't, Seth. Just… Don't bother him. I'm fine." Kirsten smiled at Ryan as he finished cleaning the wound and applied the antiseptic. It cooled her face, abated the headache somewhat, although she didn't know whether that was the vodka kicking in more. Kirsten reached for the first aid basket Seth had put on the counter and pulled out the aspirin. She popped three, and chased them with water Ryan poured her.

"It's still bleeding a little… I'm guessing you want to shower." Ryan started putting the items back in the basket before Kirsten captured his hand.

"Thank you. I'll just put some more cream on it when I get out of the shower." Kirsten released his hand and grabbed the antiseptic cream before getting up.

"Mom, you come home with a bleeding wound and no explanation. You won't let me call Dad. We know something is going on." Kirsten took the phone out of Seth's hands and set it gently in the cradle. She kept her back to him for a few long breaths before turning around.

"Seth, it's late. I have a headache. There are some things this family needs to discuss, but we can't do it tonight without your father here. It wouldn't be fair. My car got stolen tonight, which is why I'm bleeding."

"You were carjacked?" Seth asked. Kirsten bit her lip, then nodded.

"But I'm fine. Your father is fine. He wasn't there. I'm going to bed, okay? We'll talk tomorrow. 'Night." Kirsten stepped forward and hugged her son. He enveloped her back fiercely. She didn't know how many more hugs would be received this well. She turned to Ryan and hugged him as well.

"'Night, Mom." She started walking wearily towards her bedroom. She wanted a hot shower. She wanted to collapse. She wanted to be able to walk straight so they wouldn't assume she'd been drinking. Making it to the bedroom, Kirsten shut the door and stiffly stumbled through to the shower.


	5. The Call for Help

"Did you get the feeling she'd been drinking?" Seth and Ryan had seated themselves at the breakfast nook. The first aid basket was still on the counter, in case Kirsten needed something else. Her water glass was sitting out, and Ryan busied himself rinsing it out and putting it in the dishwasher, giving himself something to do. Delaying answering Seth's question. He had smelled the vodka on her. It was meant to be the undetectable drink, but years with his mother had given him a sixth sense for it. He didn't know how much to believe of Kirsten's story. He thought that she'd probably gone to see Sandy, but after that he didn't know how much of her explanation to trust. He knew Seth would have believed her about Sandy not making her bleed, but too many years of knowing men who seemed nice before they broke your nose had made Ryan wary. He didn't think that Sandy was capable of something like this; he'd seen the way he looked at Kirsten, as if she were his entire world, but he still couldn't completely trust that he hadn't been driven to the brink.

"Yeah, she'd been drinking." Ryan sat back down, unable to find anything else to clean.

"And the _carjacking_? She could've been killed, Ryan, and she doesn't even want my dad's help." Seth shook his head, rested it on his folded arms for a moment before he got up and reached for the phone.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked as Seth dialled a number.

"My Mom almost died tonight. I think Dad should be around to help her with something like that."

"But, she didn't want-" Seth cut Ryan off with the start of his conversation.

"Dad, it's me. Did you know Mom got carjacked tonight? She's bleeding a little… Okay." Seth hung up the phone and looked triumphant.

"He's going to be home in the next five minutes."

"Seth, you shouldn't have done that." Ryan traced a marble pattern in the bench top.

"Ryan, sometimes the Kirsten is too strong. She needs my father right now. Trust me. Besides, maybe I need my Dad right now. It's not often your mother comes home wounded." Ryan didn't think now was the time to contradict this with stories of his mother's various wounds. He did know that Kirsten wasn't the kind of person to appear with a bloody face and a short explanation. He also knew that he'd felt a cold fear snake through his stomach on her arrival. There had been something about her lonely appearance, her waifish wrist held up to her bleeding face, which had made him want to punch the person who had hurt her. Instead, he'd gone to get an ice pack, and had let the freezer air wash over his face for a moment, cooling his emotions. Now, with Kirsten gone, Ryan felt his hands again ball into fists.

"Besides," Seth continued, not noticing Ryan's growing anger, "maybe whatever issues the parents are having, this will force them to work it out."

"Maybe," Ryan muttered. Somehow, he doubted it. He knew something big had happened. He'd noticed Sandy come from the direction of the spare room early in the morning before everyone else was up. He'd noticed that when he or Seth walked into the room, Sandy and Kirsten didn't have to disentangle themselves and look guilty, like they usually did. And he'd noticed that Kirsten had been sad. She'd still laughed at jokes he or Seth made, still made a comment here or there about what they were talking about, but she was never really there, and hadn't been for a while. She was always looking to the door, waiting for Sandy who rarely, if ever, came home anymore. And he knew she wore long sleeves to hide bruises that she was hoping no one would notice. Ryan had recognised the placement of the fading bruises, the way they would have been inflicted by someone holding her arms over her head. And, logically, the only reason anyone would be doing that would be to have sex with her. Immediately at this point, Ryan tried to stop thinking about it. Kirsten was as good as a mother to him, and he didn't want to consider her sexual life, but he'd never seen bruises on her before from Sandy, so he had to assume they were from someone else. Which was why Sandy was so distant, and why Kirsten was so upset.

Ryan was interrupted in his musings by Sandy bursting through the front door.

"Guys, are you okay?" He was slightly breathless as he yelled down the hallway, and from the kitchen Ryan could see his eyes were widened with worry.

"Fine, Dad. Mom's in your room." Sandy turned on his heel, ran to find Kirsten. He felt sick inside. He couldn't stand it if anything had happened to her… If their last words to each other were cruelties.

Sandy followed the sound of the shower. The bathroom door was closed, but not locked. Sandy let himself in, shut the door behind him. Steam billowed around the small room, and he opened the shower door. His wife was propped up by the wall, letting the water sluice over her. The bruises on her hips and wrists were almost gone, but she had a new bruise purpling around her throat. Her knees looked skinned and bloody, and one of her cheekbones was scraped and raw.

"Honey," Sandy barely breathed the word, but Kirsten opened her eyes. They were opalescent blue, slow to focus on him, but when they did she smiled, wincing when it moved her graze. She walked through the water to him, and reached out the door. Automatically, Sandy started throwing off his clothes, wanting to be as near his wife as he could be, feeling the hot flash of desire for her the way he remembered, before life and everything in it got in the way. Sandy stepped into the shower, and Kirsten moved around to let him under the spray. She looked him in the eyes as she leaned in to kiss him. Each one was gauging the other's reaction, wondering how far they could go, how many boundaries had sprung up that needed breaking down.

_Thank you so much for all the reviews so far. _

_And check out some of my other fics- they're not on the main pages of because they're rated M+. Thanks._


	6. The Shower Scene

_This may be a little disturbing to some._

Their kiss deepened, and Sandy's hand curled around Kirsten's back to bring her in closer to him. She obliged, moving so her body was along the length of his. She ran her hands down to brush his thighs, fingers feather light. Sandy nibbled on her neck, moved down to rake his teeth over her collarbone. He caught sight of her neck, the darkening bruise, growing like a storm. It reminded him of the other bruises on her. He wondered if she liked it rough. Whether she preferred it that way, but had never told him. Sandy stilled her hands, looked at her through the water running off her hair. Her eyes looked innocent, searched his, wondered what the hold up was. Sandy pushed her back against the wall, pinning her there with his body. Kirsten reached her hands to twine them around his neck, but Sandy captured them, held them over her head. They remained like that for a moment, eyes searching each other's, seeking and probing each other's thoughts. Kirsten leant in and kissed Sandy, biting his bottom lip as she pulled back. She let go before she drew blood, but it was enough for him. Sandy kissed her back, his tongue entwining with hers, withdrawing before he felt teeth. She sucked on his bottom lip as she lifted her leg to wrap around him, allowing him to enter. Usually, they made love slowly and gently, but this was more sex than anything, a release for both of them. Sandy thrust into her, not worrying that he'd hurt her. Kirsten whimpered but wrapped her other leg around him, allowing him deeper entry. Sandy took out his anger at her on her, pounding himself into her, holding her arms above her head so she couldn't move. Kirsten arched her back and rocked her pelvis in time to him, while moving her head down to bite his collarbone. The sound of their breathing was dulled by the shower. Kirsten moved her head back up so she could seek out Sandy's lips. He kissed her hungrily, pushed his upper body in against hers so she was completely flat against the wall. His teeth grazed down her neck, raising goosebumps on her despite the hot water temperature. He stopped at her breast, nibbled at her nipple before using his teeth to squeeze. He heard Kirsten's gasp over the water, felt her involuntarily squeeze her legs tighter around him. Sandy pushed into her, felt himself go, kept himself inside her as far as he was for several moments longer, waiting for their breathing to slow. He let go of Kirsten's arms and they dropped to his shoulders, to help her stay in place. She nestled against him, perfectly fit, cradled into his shoulder. Her hair, long and wet, flowed over his back with the water. He could feel her lips on his throat, her legs still tensed around him, her breasts moving against him with every breath. He hated what she'd done, but he understood why she'd done it, what she'd been thinking at the time. He knew, when he'd taken Seth's call and heard about the carjacking, that there was no way he could live without this woman in his life. In that one moment, with the rush of protectiveness that had overtaken him, he knew he would never not love her. Not this, not anything, could make him stop loving her. He'd fallen in love with her at first sight, something she claims he couldn't have done since she was lying outside the mail truck she called home with ripped jeans and morning-after hair. But he had.

"I love you." Sandy said, wondering whether she heard him. He felt her lips smile against his neck, felt the vibrations of her words flow through him.

"I love you."

Slowly, Sandy withdrew, supported her til her legs found some strength. Kirsten leant away so she could look at him, and Sandy's eyes immediately found her lip. It was bleeding slightly. Kirsten moved her finger up to feel the damage. She turned her head up so that the spray of the water could wash the blood off. Her cheek had stopped bleeding, was now an angry looking layer of dried blood. Her wrist, when she had lifted it to check her lip, was red with Sandy's hand marks.

"Are you… Are you going to stay tonight?" Kirsten looked hopeful. Sandy took her in; his bruised and bleeding wife. He turned her in his arms, took in the red marks running the length of her back that would surely turn to bruising, where she had been pressed against the shower wall. He saw red marks on her inner thighs, on her collarbone, on her breasts.

"Baby, I'm sor-" Kirsten's fingers came to rest on his lips, stilling them.

"Just say you'll stay." Kirsten looked at him till he nodded, smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. Sandy reached around her and turned off the water. The hot was starting to run out. They were left in a silent bathroom, with the sound of the water dripping off them all that could be heard. Steam billowed, began dropping to the floor in misty twists. Sandy stepped out of the shower first, reached for a towel to wrap Kirsten in. She took it from him, modestly wrapped herself before she watched him dry himself.

Sandy wrapped the towel around his waist and ran his hands through his wet hair. There was a sudden awkwardness between them. Kirsten solved it by taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. The drapes were down, the doors closed. Kirsten pulled back the doona and crawled into bed, still towelled. She patted the bed beside her and Sandy came over to her, lay down beside her. Kirsten reached an arm around his back, moved herself closer to him so their breaths were intermingled and their faces were only inches apart.

"I love you, Sandy." Her face was softened by the steam from the shower, her hair starting to dry and curl. She reminded him so much of the girl he'd first fallen in love with, that Sandy felt some of the anger and hurt he'd carried around since she'd told him find release. It wasn't all of it, wasn't close, but Sandy knew it was a start.

_This story started as one line; she looked over the ocean. It's still saved as that on my computer. I wasn't sure it would ever be finished, but here we are… I hope the ending wasn't too depressing in a he-came-back-I-knew-this-would-happen way. They work too well together. Let's not kid ourselves; they're soul mates. Thank you to everyone who has been leaving feedback for this and who has kept reading all the way through. You guys make this loveless addiction a whole lot more worthy! _

_A note about spelling and such: I'm an Aussie. We don't say napkin, it's serviette. And we sure as hell don't say panties. It's underwear or undies. Or grundies, if you're being a yokel about it. I've spelt Mom the American way, since Kirsten is a mother in America. I'd just like to point out that we spell it Mum. And do American's say doona? Blanket, people. _


End file.
